


Happy Ending

by tulioandesmi



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Did I mention fluff?, Fluff, M/M, Massages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulioandesmi/pseuds/tulioandesmi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethos offers Deimos a massage at dinnertime and it maybe turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a great D/E massage prompt by The-Nerd-Word! Thank you dear!!!

It's dinnertime and since Cain has taken to sitting on the navigator's side of the cafeteria with Abel Deimos makes his way over to the sea of white even though he's arrived before the other fighter, pale eyes searching for the bright green streaks and unusually dark brows that mark a single table in the mess as theirs. His searching stare is caught up instead by a mop of curly, unruly hair that could only belong to Abel's navigator friend, and Deimos sighs, part in relief and part in resignation as he steps lightly over to the blonde and slides in next to him, Ethos moving over immediately to make room. 

"Hi!" the navigator greets him, bright and chipper, and Deimos shrugs a bit before focusing his attention on the food in front of him. Nausea rolls inside of him at the thought of having to ingest the slop. Deimos hasn't eaten all day and his hunger has reached the point where he's stopped feeling truly hungry and started feeling vaguely ill instead, wanting nothing more than to sink into his hard mattress and forget that this day had ever happened. From the moment Deimos had woken up everything that could go wrong did; he started the day off with a biting hangover from the toxic contraband Phobos had gotten, ended up being so sluggish that he'd missed breakfast entirely and had to go straight to training instead, where Encke had ridden him harder than usual for lagging behind. Deimos' neck and shoulders still ache from where he'd been thrown down repeatedly, used as an example for the new move the Lieutenant decided to teach them today. Deimos' right hand presses absently at the top of his spine as he picks up the spoon with his left, sucking up a small bit of the food into his mouth and vaguely aware that Abel's friend is saying something in the background. 

Cain still hasn't made it to the cafeteria yet, neither has his navigator for that matter, and Deimos is brooding over this when he notices abruptly that he's sitting in silence, Ethos having fallen silent several minutes ago in favor of finishing his own noticeably fancier meal. The small bit of resentment over this has barely flashed across Deimos' mind when he feels cool fingers on his shoulder and he jumps, spoon clattering against his bowl as he drops it and snatches up a knife instead, turning, but it's only the navigator there, the soft one, the one he's been sitting next to this entire time and completely ignoring, and Deimos feels like an idiot before he can even begin to wonder why the navigator is still touching him. 

"Sorry," the navigator says meekly, but his touch is firm, and his eyes hold Deimos' gaze steadily. "It's just that you keep touching your neck, and it looks like it hurts. I can… well, I thought-- I'm good at massages, you know." Deimos didn't know, isn't quite sure what a massage is, but he isn't about to admit that to some little lamb with loose lips that couldn't hold a secret if they tried. It wouldn't do to let people know of his ignorance, better to let them think he's mysterious and purposefully mute than to know that he still struggles with his torn-up throat and the odd English words people toss out at him, ugly and foreign to his ears. 

Deimos shrugs again, enough to dislodge Ethos' gentle hand from his shoulder, and shakes his head. _I'm fine._

The fighter thinks that'll be the end of it, knows that Abel's friend never presses an issue when there's an opportunity to back out of it. It's a mannerism much like his own when he comes to think of it, except that he's wrong, Ethos isn't backing out, and both his hands are on Deimos' shoulders before the fighter can slide away, thumbs digging into his skin in an strange and unfamiliar manner. "Sst!" Deimos hisses, throwing Ethos a slightly confused glare, but the navigator isn't looking at him, is focused completely on the tense line of Deimos' shoulders, and his hands are kneading at the knots in Deimos' flesh firmly and relentlessly and it starts to feel… _good_. 

The fighter's leaning back and his eyes are fluttering closed almost before he registers what's happening, until Ethos' fingers hit a nerve and the bright lance of pain up his spine makes Deimos start in surprise, arm swinging up and nearly smacking Ethos across the face before he regains control of his limbs. Deimos drops his arm immediately, heavily regretting ever letting the navigator touch him. 

"It's fine!" Ethos snaps when Deimos moves to push his hands away, probably trying to act assertive but only coming off as vaguely irritating and, oddly, somewhat amusing. "Just try not to hit me, and I won't press so hard! Sit _down!_ " 

Normally the fighter would never take orders from a naive navigator like him, but something about the delicate scowl marring the pale boy's expression makes Deimos' lips twitch upwards, prompting him to settle back once more and let the navigator do what he will. Delicate fingers dance across his skin and after several minutes of quiet punctuated only by the clinking of silverware around them and Ethos' warm puffs of breath against his skin Deimos feels more relaxed than he has in weeks. As a reward for his own hard day he allows a tiny, inaudible moan to vibrate along his throat; the navigator's hands are working miracles on Deimos' painful knots and kinks as they rub at the junctions between the fighter's neck and shoulders, kneading at his tense posture in deep, circular motions. The movements are soft and tender but still strong enough for Deimos to actually _feel_ the moment his muscles loosen up. Reveling in the relief Deimos sinks down happily into his seat, head lolling back a bit onto Ethos' hand, which at some point had slid up his neck and is now supporting Deimos' weight lightly. Hooded grey eyes meet surprised blue ones and together they freeze, caught in the middle of an unexpectedly intimate moment in a very public space. 

It is at the very worst moment that Cain at last decides to show up, his heavy, swaggering steps ringing across the cafeteria loud enough to cause Deimos to flinch back from Ethos' touch, breaking their staring contest abruptly. Navigator and fighter alike glance up nervously to see their lunchmates striding towards them, Abel walking a bit slower than Cain, almost tenderly, and sporting a happy blush on his face. Deimos' eyes note the hickeys that run up the pale boy's neck, the satisfied sneer pasted onto Cain's face, and wishes harder than he ever thought he would that the pair had just stayed away and had sex for a little bit longer. 

Cain smoothes down his hair with a self-satisfied smirk as he runs his dark gaze over Deimos carefully, and then glancingly over Ethos, and he opens his mouth to ask what he must think is just a joke; "What have you two lovebirds been up to?" 

But Deimos and Ethos must've had identical looks of guilt on their faces because both Cain and Abel start laughing almost immediately, Cain's eyes squeezing into perfect half-circles and Abel staring penetratingly at Ethos even though his amusement. When Deimos risks a quick glance over to Ethos, he sees the navigator is bright red with embarrassment. 

"We weren't doing anything!" Ethos exclaims indignantly, making it sound for all the world like they were doing far more than a simple massage, and Cain has to clutch his stomach because he's laughing so hard. 

"Tch!" Deimos responds, aiming the brunt of his irritation at the other fighter and hoping he'll get a clue. At some point Deimos has become protective over the bumbling navigator at his side, fiercely protective, and something about Cain making fun of Ethos now rubs him entirely the wrong way. Even if they _hadn't_ been doing anything. Especially if they _had_. And the very fact that the thought has swiftly crossed his mind shows just how much Ethos is getting to him, because it's not like they're fucking, it's not like Ethos had ever followed Deimos back to his room and held him down and whispered dark promises in his ear that sounded more like threats than anything, it's not like Ethos is Cain, except that it still feels important, so important, every stray touch and glance and word that Ethos throws at him even if Deimos can barely understand any of it, can understand even less the feelings it stirs up inside of him. 

Cain has stopped laughing now and is watching him closely, too closely, and Deimos worries suddenly that Cain will understand more about what he's feeling than he does himself, and he doesn't want that, because he's almost scared of figuring out what these feelings are. Because feelings have no place on a ship like the Slepnir and no place inside a lowly colonial like him, especially not when it comes to a shining perfect example of genetic engineering and privilege and _kindness_ like Ethos is. It would never do for a pauper to love a saint but Deimos is doing it anyways, and he barely has a second to realize this before Ethos' hand is gripping his arm tightly, tugging at him, pulling him up and out of his seat. It's the shocked expressions on Cain and Abel's faces that snap Deimos back into reality, and his head jerks so fast to the side that the muscles seize up all over again but he has to see what Ethos is doing, has to see the expression on the navigator's face and the words being formed by his lips because Deimos has no idea what's going on or why he's being jerked around or who is doing the jerking in the first place. 

"--s, then we'll just sit at our own table! We don't need you making fun of us all the time, okay?!" 

Abel is making placating motions with his hands but it's Cain's annoyed _tsk_ that gets through to Ethos instead, and he looks more furious than Deimos has ever seen him or ever believed he could actually get. Light blue eyes jump over to his and Ethos is saying, "Come on, Deimos, let's _go_ " and Deimos is following, almost stumbling over his own small feet, completely transfixed by the icy hard gaze coming out of a puppy's face. He knows at that moment that he'd follow Ethos anywhere if it meant getting to study every inch of who this navigator is, this walking contradiction, this odd, unexpected ray of light in his very, very difficult day. 

A soft hand touches the side of his face and the sensation breaks his train of thought, and Deimos blinks, and when his eyes focus properly again Ethos' face is incredibly close to his. The fighter tenses up automatically to stop himself from taking an unwanted step back, hopes the navigator doesn't notice. 

"You alright?" Ethos asks softly, and Deimos realizes with something akin to relief that they've made it out into the hallway and they're finally _alone_ , except the relief is quickly replaced by a nervous fluttering in his belly, and Ethos has asked him a question and that means he has to answer and Deimos has no idea what to say so he simply blinks again and brings a hand up to his cheek to cover Ethos' gently, quietly pressing the navigator's hand into his cool skin and hoping that it's good enough.

"I'm sorry I yanked you out of there," Ethos murmurs, and the words don't compute because Deimos is too busy staring at the rosy tint of his lips, the way the navigator wets them nervously with his tongue, and Deimos has never been one for kissing before but he wants it so badly right now that the impulse catches him off-guard-- he's halfway there before he stops himself with an awkward jerk, would've pulled away entirely but Ethos is already making up the distance, shoving their lips together clumsily and reaching around Deimos' waist to pull him even closer. Deimos curves his body into it, letting the tension bleed out of him like liquid and slumping into the navigator's warm, broad chest as their lips continue to mash against each other, and it's awkward and jerky but so, so perfect, and all Deimos can think about is how badly he wants to practice doing this, over and over again until their lips fit together like a second skin. Ethos pulls back and Deimos has to hold back a shivering whine, his body is cold, icy, and only Ethos can warm it up. His hand scrambles up into Ethos' hair, grasping his head and trying to push him back down, but the navigator refuses, and his glare is just as piercing and perceptive as Cain's ever was. 

"Is this okay?" Ethos asks, even though he must know that it is, with the way that Deimos is clawing at him like a bitch in heat. But his expression demands an answer and so Deimos pulls away a bit, straightens his jacket and nods, trying to seem put together and professional even though his insides are all jumbled up and his train of thought is a total mess, running all over and bonking into itself at every turn. His little act seems to satisfy Ethos enough, though, that the navigator takes Deimos' rough, calloused hand in his and begins pulling him towards the lift to the rooms that they stay in. "Come on, we never finished that massage," Ethos says, and Deimos still doesn't have half a clue what Ethos means by that but a little thrill runs up his spine all the same, and he tries his best not to skip to the elevator as his precious saint tugs him along.


End file.
